


Reminiscent

by shingekinodontdothat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, More tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinodontdothat/pseuds/shingekinodontdothat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jeager has been subject to many years of treatment after the tragic accident that claimed his mother's life. Leaving him distraught and damaged, his somewhat absent father and Councillor decide to send him to Maria; A mental institution for troubled teens.<br/>Despite being completely against the idea, Eren finds himself warming up to the place and it's inhabitants, even that one shitty Councillor with his horrible people skills, totally-not-hot physique, his stupid eyes and his stupid good looks...<br/>Not that Eren would ever admit he was good looking of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reminiscent

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything at all, let alone fan fiction, so I apologize in advance! I'm warning you now that it's going to be a slow build...  
> This is un beta-d so if you see any mistakes please let me know!  
> I hope you enjoy ~ ^.^

“How are you feeling today Eren?” I sat in silence, refusing to answer the question. 

How do they think I feel? Oh but of course! Anyone would be overjoyed to the fact that they could no longer remember the sound of their mother’s laugh or the exact shade of her eyes – were they blue? Or green?  
Or perhaps they thought that waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the image of lifeless body upon lifeless body piled up in the gloom burning my eyelids was a great time.  
Yeah, what a real hoot.  
Instead of answering the question, I stared out the window and out into the street. I liked to watch people, there’s something quite peaceful about existing around strangers, catching glimpses of their lives as they strolled past – a girl’s bubbly laugh, a crying toddler, a quarreling couple. I was fascinated by what went on in their lives; where did they live? What sort of hobbies did they have? Were they lonely? What did they think about when they were lying awake in bed, unable to sleep at three am?  
A woman strolled past, her arm linked through that of a tall gentleman. They were a well presented couple; his suit was expensive looking, and she had a lovely string of pearls adorning her slim neck. Were they married? Just friends? Perhaps they were on their way to visit a function, or family…

“Eren.” They cut through again.  
I dragged my gaze away from the window to glance over at my Councillor, my face a blank sheet. 

“Where are you right now?” She rested her chin in her hands, a sad smile on her face. “You know you can tell me.” 

Instead of giving in to her sad smile and answering her question, I focused instead on her glasses; the color was familiar, chestnutty sort of brown that I think resembled my mother’s hair, then again I couldn't be sure. Even the solitary photo I had of the pair of us didn't seem to depict her in her true colors.  
So instead I found myself trying to remember small details about her; the way the sunlight caught her hair, or the way that she fiddled nervously with the clasp of her bag whilst standing in a particularly long line, or perhaps the small dimple on her chin when she smiled, even if just slightly.  
Yet it seems the small memories I would have loved to have kept of her from before that day were blasted to the back of my mind and shattered, much like my body as I was thrown against the wall of our local museum when the first bomb hit.  
I was vaguely aware that my Councillor was once again trying to talk to me, yet I couldn't respond – the influx of images were coming on too quickly too strongly. It’s too late now, I realized, to stop the sudden flood-gate effect that I was unfortunately all too familiar with.  
It was too late for many people that day. 

I don’t remember much from the morning, in fact, it was all such a blur that I wonder if anything ever happened before the explosion. I do, however, remember the face of the guard, red from exertion and fear as he flew out of the hallway, his arms up and a strangled cry escaping his lips as a tremendous, earsplitting blast shook the room. I remember the flash, the black cloud of smoke and debris sweeping and twisting around me. My mom – with a rather surprised look on her face – had stumbled sideways, her hand wrenched from my own with such a force that I remember worrying that it might have hurt her. I didn't have time to wonder for long however, as a wall of hot wind smashed into me, tossing me across the room as if I were nothing but a doll. 

When I came too, I felt as if I was on the bad end of one of my old school-ground fights; head ringing, wind knocked out of me, limbs like lead. I desperately wanted to get up and beat the ever-loving shit out of the assholes who had apparently jumped me. But as the alarms shrieked on around me, and I inhaled a shaky breath filled with dust and smoke that ended in a gut-wrenching cough, the reality of my situation had sunk in. For a moment I lay too stunned to move in the growing consciousness that something was wrong. Really wrong. The air was wrong, the light was wrong, the sounds and smells and everything was just wrong. Eventually, I had gathered enough strength to push myself back on my elbows in order to gather some sense of where I was and just what the hell was going on. I had blinked through layers of smoke and grit, my head pounding as my surroundings had come slowly into focus.  
It was like the set of some bizarre sci-fi movie, a white cave with its ground torn up with lumps of moon-rock strewn hazardously about. If it weren't for the insistent shriek of sirens and the twitchy shine of the lone functioning light, I would have truly believed that I had been blasted to some strange, alien planet.  
Blinking through the dust I remember the first object I saw; a lone tennis shoe. There was nothing remarkable about it, a plain white lace up Nike that looked as if it had belonged to a man who done a fair amount of walking, nothing remarkable at all. It took me a few moments to realize that the tightening of my throat and the roaring in my ears were not due to my finding of the remarkably un-remarkable shoe, but of the significance it held. I was gasping, half choking with plaster dust and half choking with anxiety as the events came rushing back. I stumbled less than gracefully to my feet in a blind panic, scanning the barren wasteland for any signs of life. My head hurt, and I so badly wanted to lie back down and fall asleep but I knew I needed to find her. Mom.  
My line of vision had fallen on a hand poking precariously out from underneath a small bit of rubble. I had shoved my way forward, shoving bits of plaster, painting, probably people, out of my path until I reached it. It was unmistakable – the slim, elegant fingers, the lone silver band that she wore on her index finger. It was my mother’s hand.  
I froze, too scared to move the plaster obscuring her from view, too scared not too.  
Eventually my brain must have kick-started itself into function again as with shaky hands I hefted the section of wall off her.  
Her head dangled heavily on her neck, chin lolling on her chest, her lower half lay twisted on the ground like a pile of dirty sheets. She was covered in blood, it was everywhere; coating her beautiful chestnut hair, leaking into the rubble around her, and staining my hands much like the red paint we had splashed over one another during a renovating session turned wild.  
It’s a strange feeling, hearing yourself scream without realizing you’re making a sound. The strangled, animalistic cry had started in waves, rolling from my gut before scratching its way out of my raw throat and throwing itself into the empty space that surrounded the two of us, reverberating off the walls and echoing back.  
I guess I was lucky, really, that I had made a noise at all. Soon after my discovery a tall man with short cropped blond hair shoved his way into the room, breathless in the desperate way most commonly associated with accidents. 

“Shit.” He muttered under his breath, barely audible in a normal situation, however, in the eerie stillness of the room it was as loud as if he had yelled it.

“Kid we have to go” I was vaguely aware of a hand on my shoulder, attempting to drag me away from her body. But I only slumped forward, throwing my arms over her limp form, my body rocking with the force of my sobs.

“Look kid, I know this is must be hard for you but this place is going to collapse any second if we don’t get the hell out of here right now!” I felt myself being hoisted into the air, my throat like sandpaper, tears carving tracks down my grime coated face, searing as hot as the flames that were licking their way across the floor towards us. 

“No..” I choked out as thrown over the man’s shoulder, “I can’t leave her…mom!” I flailed, my fists weakly striking the man’s back with dull thuds as the ceiling cracked above us. 

“I’m sorry kid but I can’t leave you here” he replied, dodging between piles of debris as bits of ceiling plaster began to fall around us.  
It’s unfortunate, really, that the last image I held of my mother was her crumpled under bits of plaster, head turned our way, eyes unseeing. She was beautiful even in death. 

 

\------------------------------

 

“Ren… E…n...Eren. Eren!”  
I blinked a few times, the room around me swimming into vision. My tongue felt heavy and I couldn’t seem to move my head. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“How long was I out?” My voice felt foreign even to my ears; husky from disuse, void of any emotion.  
“Only about a minute.”

I managed to slowly crane my neck to the side and peer at my councillor out of the corner of my eye. Her brows were furrowed, and she was worrying her lip. Never a good sign. 

“Hange...I know what you’re thinking, but they’re getting better. Less frequent…” the words fell flat even to my ears, it was, of course, a blatant lie, but I refused to let her pity me. 

“Eren, you know I only want the best for you” she replied, coaxing me into a sitting position, my head swam again, and my vision went dark momentarily. “But honestly, I think I may need to have a chat with your father about the possibility of placing you somewhere where you can get regular care.”  
I snapped my head round to look at her dead in the eye.

“No way.” 

“Eren, I know this must be difficult for you, and although you think you may be getting better, the fact of the matter is that it’s been six months now and there hasn't been any notable improvement. I’m worried for your safety and I know your father is too.”

I scoffed. “My father? Worried? That’s the joke of the century,” I spat bitterly, glaring at a discoloured patch in the carpet as if it had done me personal offence. 

“Eren, he cares about you deeply and only wants the best. We’ve talked about the possibilities, and I have an old friend who –"

“You’re already plotting behind my back to send me to some loony bin?!” 

Hange was silent for a beat, her eyes sad. I felt a flicker of guilt for yelling at her. Hange was nice in an eccentric, pushy kind of way and I never really minded coming to her sessions. Back when they first started she never used to push, and was comfortable with sitting in complete silence for the hour and a half if she sensed that I didn't feel like sharing. If, on the odd occasion, I did feel like sharing she sat patiently whilst I paced the room, yelling and swearing, striking any object that I came across. Never condescending, always kind.  
I heaved out a sigh.

“Look, I know I shouldn't be blaming you” I started, catching her eye, “but I don’t see how being locked up in a psych ward will help me in any way.”  
She was quiet for a few moments, pushing herself to her feet and motioning for me to do the same – offering me a hand which I ignored. She placed a hand on my shoulder, and cracked a small smile. 

“I just need you to trust me on this one.”

\------------------------------

 

A week later, despite my better judgement and numerous complaints, I found myself staring up at an old building, its walls covered in a layer of ivy, paint peeling off the barred windows. 

“Great.” I muttered, drawing out the ‘r’ sound and slumping my shoulders.  
If I had expected the inside to look any more inviting than the outside I would have been severely disappointed. The walls were painted a washed out blue, chipped in numerous places, and covered in odd stains whose origins I chose to not dwell on too long. We were greeted by a white cloaked girl, who smiled at me as if I were her favorite person in the world. Whatever she’s taking, I thought cynically to myself, I want some. It felt like a prison, as if I was being locked away for some heinous crime unknown to me. Dark thoughts crossed my mind and settled on my shoulders like a musty old toque, creeping their claws around my neck and whispering in my ear; It’s your fault she died, this is just your punishment…you belong here…your fault...I shuddered, lowering my gaze to the floor and shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my worn jacket. I guess this is what I deserved.  
The place seemed to go on forever in a maze of twisting corridors, the background forever unchanging. With each turn we were faced with the same starch white doors, the same blue walls. With every set of barred, key-card activated doors we passed through, the more the very atmosphere seemed to suck the energy from me. By the time we reached a large, open room I felt an immense desire to fall into the closest chair.  
The room was considerably lighter than the expanse of corridors we had wound out way through; paintings of beautiful scenery and happy children playing covered the walls, obscuring the hideous blue from view. For that, I guess, I was a little grateful. In the far corner of the room was a set of well-worn couches, which in their day must have been quite a sight to behold. But now, after obviously many years of use, their white leather was cracked and dulled, coated in stains of all kinds. My gut twisted at the sight, and I found I couldn't look at them for long.  
Near the couches was an old TV, playing a re-run of an old sitcom, the canned laughter filling the silence in the room with an almost eerie chill. 

“Are there other people here” my father inquired, his words cutting through the pressing silence like a knife. I let loose a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding.

“Yes,” the lady’s smile widened, a feat I hadn't thought possible, “They’re all in just having lunch, you’ll get to meet them soon enough.” She turned to me, her eyes softening.  
A flicker of nervousness must have shown on my features as she patted my arm sympathetically. 

“They’re all lovely, I’m sure they won’t live up to any of the crazy prejudgments you’re holding of them.”  
Was this woman a mind-reader? I relaxed slightly and she turned away, leading the way once again with a brisk walk, making small comments over her shoulder. 

“this is the common room, feel free to wander around here whenever you want…”  
But I wasn't really listening, despite the fact that her words had eased the anxiety clawing at my stomach slightly, and although the rooms were pleasant enough – an improvement on the hallways at least – I couldn't help but feel an encroaching sense of foreboding, the images of the key-card doors and barred windows clouding my vision. 

“I’m afraid this is where I leave you guys, Eren; it was lovely to meet you. Your new Councillor will be just through these doors to introduce himself. Mr Jaeger, if you would follow me.”  
I spun around as they started to walk away, heartbeat loud in my ears. They were just going to leave me here with some stranger? I swallowed hard, turning to inspect the door in front of me. It was different from the others that we had passed on the way here – it was a polished oak, a rich brown in color and impeccably clean unlike the stained white doors we had passed on the trip here. I suddenly regretted every decision I had made; why hadn't I just stayed on with Hange? Things would have been much simpler.  
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, suck it up Jaeger, you’re 17 not 12, I scolded myself before reaching out a shaky hand to knock on the door. 

“Come in.” The voice was sharp and demanding, yet still managed to come out with a slight drawl, hinting at boredom.

The door creaked ever so slightly as I pushed it open, peeking my head inside ever so slightly. 

“What, are you constipated? Hurry up and get in here.” I faltered, taking a hesitant step backwards. Weren't Councillors supposed to be friendly? 

“Well?” They coaxed, impatience lacing through their voice. 

Anger sparked through me, who the hell was this guy? I shoved the door open and stormed across the room, ready to give him a piece of my mind, coming to a stop in front of his desk, which appeared to be the same color and wood as the door.  
The man had his back to me, and was staring out the window onto the street below. I noted that the window had no bars, the first of its kind. He was a lot shorter than I envisioned, probably only reaching my shoulder if we stood side-by-side. I held back a snicker, reflecting on the slight intimidation I had first felt.  
He turned slowly to and fixed my gaze with a steely glare. I shrank back suddenly. His eyes were a dark grey, as unforgiving as a stormy sky and just as cold. I swallowed loudly.

He motioned to the chair behind me, “Sit.” 

Just what the hell was this place?


End file.
